“I object to his evidence,” said Carson:  “he is my open enemy.”

“I am your enemy, Mr. Carson, or rather the enemy of your corruption and want of honesty,” said Smith:  “but, as you say, an open one.  I scorn to say behind your back what I wouldn’t say to your face.  Right well you know I was present when he tendered you his rent.  I lent him part of it.  But why did you and your bailiffs turn him out, when his wife was on her sick bed?  Allowing that he could not pay his rent, was that any reason you should do so barbarous an act as to drag a woman from her sick bed, and she at the point of death?  But we know your reasons for it.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Colonel, “pray what character do M’Evoy and Smith here bear in the country?”

“We have known them both for years to be honest, conscientious men,” said those whom he addressed:  “such is their character, and in our opinion they well deserve it.”

“God bless you, gintlemen!” said M’Evoy—­“God bless your honors, for your kind Words!  I’m sure for my own part, I hope though but a poor man now, God help me!”

“Pray, who occupies the farm at present, Mr. Carson?”

“The man I mentioned to you this morning, sir.  His name is Jackson.”

“And pray, Mr. Carson, who is his wife?”

“Oh, by the by, Colonel, that’s a little too close!  I see the gentlemen smile; but they know I must beg to decline answering that question—–­not that it matters much.  We have all sown our wild oats in our time—­myself as well as another—­ha, ha, ha!”

“The fact, under other circumstances,” observed the Colonel, “could never draw an inquiry from me; but as it is connected with, or probably has occasioned, a gross, unfeeling, and an unjust act of oppression towards an honest man, I therefore alluded to it, as exhibiting the motives from which you acted.  She is your illegitimate daughter, sir!”

“She’s one o’ the baker’s dozen o’ them, plase your honor,” observed a humorous little Presbyterian, with a sarcastic face, and sharp northern accent—­“for feth, sir, for my part, A thenk he lies one on every hill head.  All count, your honor, on my fingers a roun’ half-dozen, all on your estate, sir, featherin’ their nests as fast as they can.”

“Is this Jackson a good tenant, Mr. Carson?”

“I gave you his character this morning, Colonel B.”

“Hout, Colonel!” said the Presbyterian, “deil a penny rent the man pays, at all, at all.  A’ll swear a hev it from Jackson’s own lips.  He made him a Bailey, sir; he suts rent free.  Ask the man, sir, for his receipts, an’ a’ll warrant the truth will come out.”

“I have secured Jackson’s attendance,” said the Colonel; “let him be called in.”

The man in a few minutes entered.

“Jackson,” said the Colonel, “how long is it since you paid Mr. Carson here any rent?”

Jackson looked at Carson for his cue; but the Colonel rose up indignantly:  “Fellow!” he proceeded, “if you tamper with me a single moment, you shall find Mr. Carson badly able to protect you.  If you speak falsehood, be it at your peril.”